Grab the Nearest Book...

[chris2c4u]

Two Houses. Edward Thomas.

Between a sunny bank and the sun
The farmhouse smiles
On the riverside plat:
No other one
So pleasant to look at
And remember, for many miles,
So velvet-hushed and cool under warm tiles.
Nor far from the road it lies, yet caught
Far out of reach
Of the road's dust
And the dusty thought
Of passers-by, though each
Stops, and turns, and must
Look down at it like a wasp at a muslined peach.

But another house stood there long before:
And as if above graves
Still the turf heaves
Above its stones:
Dark hangs the sycamore,
Shadowing kennel and bones
And the black dog that shakes his chain and moans.
And when he barks, over the river
Flashing fast,
Dark echoes reply,
And the hollow past
Half yields the dead that never
More than half hidden lie:
And out they creep and back again for ever.

The Collected Poems of Edward Thomas, ed. R. G. Thomas.

 

[tighe]

"I'm going to throw you from the tower into the thorn-of-color bushes below so that your eyes will be gouged out and you'll wander the countryside cursing your bad luck for the rest of your life.!"

Politically Correct Bedtime Stories
James Fin Garner

 

[trysail]

"Elie Wiesel, writer, survivor of Auschwitz and Nobel Peace Prize winner, came to see [ Condeleeza ] Rice on February 27 [ 2003 ] and the president dropped by her office. Rice moved to the couch so the president could take the chair closest to Wiesel.

Wiesel told the president that Iraq was a terrorist state and that the moral imperative was for intervention. If the West had intervened in Europe in 1938, he said, World War II and the Holocaust could have been prevented. 'It's a moral issue. In the name of morality how can we not intervene?...'

... In the face of such evils, neutrality is impossible, Wiesel said."


-Bob Woodward
Plan of Attack
New York, New York 2004.


If you want a recital of the events and considerations that led to the invasion of Iraq by a coalition of nations, this is a good account. If nothing else, it might provide some facts and some food for thought.

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

"And in France, Pasteur was writing, 'I am on the edge of mysteries and the veil is getting thinner and thinner.'

Never had there been a time so exciting in medicine. A universe was opening."

John M. Barry
The Great Influenza
The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History

 

[trysail]

"There was what I would call immoral, sensationalist reporting about the death of David Sharp, and scapegoats were found and lynched in newsprint and newsreel. Even my own situation, with its happy ending, was manipulated for dramatic effect to make better television. One of the problems was that the mainstream media took most of their information from a few Web reports from climbers at Base Camp who had little concern about the accuracy of their words. What they said was treated as fact and treated by the press as it wished. This hype meant that the press expected my story to showcase conflict between me and Alex, and me and the Sherpas who could not revive me. Nothing could be further from the truth.

In Kathmandu an Australian television crew interviewed me and Barbara for a segment to be broadcast on the Channel 7 show Today Tonight. At the time of the interview, I had thought that everything had gone well, with the drama of my exploits requiring no embellishment

One of the questions Today Tonight had asked was: 'Did you know that Alex told the Sherpas to leave you for dead?'

'Yes,' I had replied, without any indication of distress or disapproval.

However, the editor or segment producer had spliced in a different answer, one that I had given to a completely different question, presumably because they wanted some extra drama.

The first I knew of this was back in Australia, when Barbara, Dylan, Dorje, and I were watching a videotape of what had gone to air. There was footage of climbers in the mess tent at Base Camp listening to a radio conversation between Alex and the Sherpas.

It began with Alex saying, 'But now Lincoln is very bad. If possible, send one Sherpa up to help Lincoln. He is near dead also.'

Next came voiceover from the interviewer, with footage of Alex at his telescope peering at the mountain.

'This, we are reliably informed, is the voice of expedition leader Alex Abramov from Everest Base Camp, instructing the Sherpas to leave Lincoln and return.'

I was now on camera being interviewed with a surprised expression. Hesitantly, I said, 'Okay... That is news to me...'

Again there was voiceover from the interviewer: 'This is the first time Lincoln has been made aware of Abramov's orders.'

But I knew from Alex that I had been declared dead. My comment had concerned another issue altogether, and I immediately told my family as much. The question to which I had actually responded, with obvious surprise, had been: 'Did you know that Alex told the Sherpas to cover you with stones?' This was a totally different issue, and I had been stunned to learn that my death had been so definitive that a burial of sorts had been arranged.

'You know the man well,' said the interviewer. 'You must be pretty disappointed in hearing him say that. You're sitting here alive and well, admittedly with a bit of frostbite.'

'Look..' I began.

But the interviewer threw words at me.

'Shocked? Angered? Offended?'

'I guess I'm a little bewildered,' I said, meaning that I was bewildered to learn that a pile of stones was to have been my grave. 'I need to talk to Alex about that.'

'I would think so!' pronounced the interviewer, and the audience would have thought I was bewildered because I had been left for dead.

At the time of the interview, Alex had not yet told me about the burial plan, which in the end had turned out not to be feasible or indeed necessary.

Obviously, the truth was not being allowed to interfere with a good story. They already had the good story, so I assumed they had wanted to convey a sense of conflict between Alex and me or that he had attempted to keep the truth from me— neither of which had any basis in fact."


-Lincoln Hall
Dead Lucky
New York, New York 2007.


In May, 2006, at age forty-nine, Lincoln Hall— a highly experienced mountaineer who twenty-two years earlier had turned back five hundred feet from summiting Everest— was part of an Australian group attempting to climb the world's tallest peak. In that month, five people were to die on the mountain creating yet one more episode in the never-ending series of spectacles that is the media behaving like perfect idiots.

On his descent from the summit, at 28,200' ( 8,600 m. ), Hall suffered what was likely cerebral edema and collapsed. After heroic efforts to assist him, the Sherpas accompanying him were forced to abandon Hall as night fell and he was clearly all but dead. In the book, Hall takes great pains to absolve the Sherpas ( and Alex Abramov ) of any responsibility and acknowledges that their actions were absolutely consistent with accepted practice and simple self-preservation. Hall absolves everyone connected with the expedition.

Somehow— miraculously ( and there really is no other word for it )— Hall became the first human ever known to survive a night at that altitude on Everest. Discovered by four men ( Dan Mazur, Jangbu Sherpa, Andrew Brash and Myles Osborne ) who selflessly abandoned their own quest for the summit on the following morning, Hall lived to tell the story.

In the words of Myles Osborne, "Sitting to our left, about two feet from a 10,000 foot drop, was a man. Not dead, not sleeping, but sitting cross legged, in the process of changing his shirt. He had his down suit unzipped to the waist, his arms out of the sleeves, was wearing no hat, no gloves, no sunglasses, had no oxygen mask, regulator, ice axe, oxygen, no sleeping bag, no mattress, no food nor water bottle. 'I imagine you're surprised to see me here,' he said. Now, this was a moment of total disbelief to us all. Here was a gentleman, apparently lucid, who had spent the night without oxygen at 8600m, without proper equipment and barely clothed. And ALIVE."
Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lincoln_Hall_(climber)

It's a great yarn. I've climbed most of my life and, like so many, am fascinated by the question of what motivates anyone to voluntarily endure the horrific discomforts and risks that are an unavoidable part of high-altitude mountaineering. With all due respect to Sir George Mallory, as far as I'm concerned, "Because it's there" doesn't justify dying.

 

[calender_girl]

Jack had never quite grown up, never quite accepted the responsibilities of adulthood, and, real or a hoax, the mere idea of a lost treasure would have appealed to him.

The Perfect Wife - Victoria Alexander

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

A comical retelling of King Lear

"I do know what it is to be deprived by the accident of birth, Edmund."

Christopher Moore
Fool

 

[Tio_Narratore]

"It's an allavalonche that blows nopussy food."


James Joyce
Finnegan's Wake

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

Pretty soon he was all fagged out, and fell down panting; then he rolled over and over, wonderful fast, kicking things every which way, and striking and grabbing at the air with his hands, and screaming, and saying there was devils ahold of him.


Samuel Langhorne Clemens

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
An Authoritative Text
Backgrounds and Sources
Criticism

Edited by Sculley Bradley

 

[trysail]

" 'Greatness of birth and the advantages bestowed by wealth and by nature should provide all the elements of a happy life,' wrote Louis's first cousin the Grande Mademoiselle in her final months. 'But experience should have taught us that there are many people who have had all these things who are not happy.' "


-Antonia Fraser
Love and Louis XIV: The Women in the Life of the Sun King
New York, New York 2006.


Louis XIV's seventy-seven years on earth defined an era. He was a serial philanderer ( like England's Charles II ) who begat no less than sixteen illigitimate children in addition to the two born in wedlock. He lived long enough to see most of them predecease him. In 1712, alone, measles(!) killed Louis' heir-apparent grandson ( the Dauphin ), the Dauphin's wife and their only child. In fact, in the space of only eleven months, Louis XIV lost his heir apparent son, grandson, great-grandson and a beloved granddaughter-in-law.

He was, of course, the "Sun King" and that certainly was the case for the vast family and court that revolved around him. The various rivalries and feuds among his wife, mistresses, children ( legitimate and illigitimate ) and courtiers nearly drove him around the bend.

Antonia Fraser has yet to disappoint me. Her books are always well written and researched. She has deep knowledge and perspective of 16th, 17th and 18th century English and French history.

 

[OnHarry]

Although the municipalities were anxious to encourage the building of the inter-city lines,their subsequent attitude towards then varied widely.

The Intercity Electric Railway Industry In Canada- John F. Due




What can I say it was the closest book when I came here this morning.

 

[Tio_Narratore]

I spent weeks in endless deserts, on plains that stretched as far as the eye could see, and I always felt like a prisoner of something that surpassed the powers of my imagination.

Umberto Eco, Baudolino, trans. by William Weaver

 

[trysail]

"Someone like O'Hare, having entered the Army as a surgeon's mate with Irish Catholic origins, could not claim to have started life at a station any higher than had most of the rankers. Many of the soldiers found it harder to defer to such a man. One private of the 95th summed it up pithily: 'In our army the men prefer to be officered by gentlemen, by men whose education has rendered them more kind in manners than a coarse officer who has sprung from obscure origins, and whose style is brutal and overbearing.'

From the officer's side of the divide— for O'Hare's predicament in this regard was far from unique in the Rifles— it was difficult to overcome the familiarity which many soldiers showed to someone of low birth. The rifleman could detect a natural gentleman easily enough by his manners...

'We had but a slender sprinkling of the aristocracy among us,' one officer of the 95th wrote later, perceptively summing up the difficult question of social status. 'They were not braver officers, nor were they better or braver men than the soldiers of fortune, with which they were mingled; but there was a degree of refinement in all their actions, even in mischief, which commanded the respect of the soldiers, while those who had been framed in rougher moulds, and left unpolished, were sometimes obliged to have recourse to harsh measures.' "


-Mark Urban
Wellington's Rifles: Six Years to Waterloo with England's Legendary Sharpshooters
New York, New York 2004.


As I have reported elsewhere— this is a thorough account of one of the British Army's most celebrated units, the 95th Regiment of Foot ( Rifles ). Its exploits through six years of the Peninsular War were legendary and, as a result, it was eventually taken out of the "line" and became known as The Rifle Brigade. It was the first unit in the British Army to adopt the American tactics observed by the British between 1775-1781— dispersed troops using cover and aimed fire with "Baker" rifles rather than the massed fire of smoothbores by in-line troops.

Geneva Conventions? Huh? The Peninsula was nasty, nasty, nasty business. Wounded or captured troops could expect no quarter; it was normal for the dead, wounded or captured to be stripped of all their clothes and possessions. Discipline in the British Army was severe and fierce; Wellington and his commanders worked assiduously to be sure that British troops feared them more than they feared the French. Floggings were frequent and de rigeur. I'm not sure what was more horrific, Nelson's Navy, Wellington's Army or service as Napoleonic cannon fodder.

I'd never really read anything on the Peninsular War previously, though I've seen multiple references to it as being a singularly nasty affair. I vaguely recall having once before read an explanation of the origin of the term "forlorn hope" ( it might have been Patrick O'Brian ); Urban's work refreshed my memory.

 

[trysail]

"How we should go about living with grizzlies is not an easy subject. Half of our population considers grizzlies to be serial killers and the other half considers them a cross between Yogi Bear and Winnie the Pooh. But they are not serial killers, they are not harmless, and they are not our friends. They are wild beings, with all that connotes. For reasons I don't understand, many people have a hard time accepting that fact. As Aldo Leopold put it: 'Only those able to see the pageant of evolution can be expected to value its theater, the wilderness, and its outstanding achievement, the grizzly.'

On the other hand, no one should underestimate the horror of a grizzly attack. A small library of books describing such attacks is likely to keep you from ever hiking in grizzly country, especially alone. One factoid I can't get out of my head was reported by Dr. Steven P. French, a biologist who worked for the Yellowstone Grizzly Foundation: a grizzly may begin eating you before you die."


-Jack Turner
Travels in the Greater Yellowstone.
New York, New York 2008.


Jack Turner is undeniably an accomplished outdoorsman and mountaineer. Since moving to the Yellowstone area from California in the '60s, he has made a living as a guide and trek leader. The book is essentially a series of essays about several fishing and hiking outings he took over the course of a calendar year. Turner is also the prototypical eco-nut hypocrite, ranting and raving about the evils of fossil fuels and civilization whilst simultaneously enjoying heat, portable camp stoves and extolling the virtues of polypropylene clothing as he tools around Wyoming in his pickup truck. Notwithstanding, the book is entertaining reading for anyone interested in fishing, mountaineering, wolves, grizzlies, Yellowstone or the outdoors.

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

"Robert Sherrod wrote of Nimitz, one of the greatest naval officers America has produced, that he 'conceived of war as something to be accomplished as efficiently and smoothly as possible, without to much fanfare.'"

Max Hastings
Retribution
The Battle for Japan, 1944-1945


For the record, the previous grizzly bear quote has left my stomach in a very unpleasant knot. Those bears now join sharks, caves and frogs' legs on the list of things I fear most.

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

A (renewed) classic

"She retrieved her dagger and beheaded the last of her opponents, lifting its head by the hair and letting her battle be known for a mile in every direction."

(Who knew Elizabeth Bennet was such a tough, 'though well-mannered, zombie slayer?)


Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith

 

[trysail]

"Katz was in a tetchy frame of mind throughout most of our stay in Paris. He was convinced everything was out to get him. On the morning of our second day, we were strolling down the Champs-Elysées when a bird shit on his head. "Did you know," I asked a block or two later, "that a bird's shit on your head?"

Instinctively, Katz put a hand to his head, looked at it in horror, and with only a mumbled "Wait here," walked with ramrod stiffness in the direction of our hotel. When he reappeared twenty minutes later, he smelled overpoweringly of Brut aftershave and his hair was plastered down like a third-rate Spanish gigolo's, but he appeared to have regained his composure. "I'm ready now," he announced.

Almost immediately another bird shit on his head. Only this time it really shit. I don't want to get too graphic, in case you're snacking or anything, but if you can imagine a pot of yogurt upended onto his scalp, I think you'll get the picture. It was running down both sides of his head and everything. "Gosh, Steve, that was one sick bird," I observed helpfully.

Katz was literally speechless. Without a word he turned and walked stiffly back to the hotel, ignoring the turning heads of passersby. He was gone for nearly an hour. When at last he returned, he was wearing a poncho with the hood up. "Just don't say a word," he warned me and strode past. He never really warmed up to Paris after that."


-Bill Bryson
Neither Here Nor There: Travels In Europe.
New York, New York 1992.


I always hesitate to say it but I'm now reasonably comfortable that the weight of evidence warrants a declaration that Bill Bryson has a distinctive prose style. It's taken the ten years since I first stumbled on him in A Walk In The Woods ( his account of hiking the U.S. Appalachian Trail, which I picked up out of curiosity since I've walked a substantial portion of the AT ) for me to arrive at this conclusion. After that first exposure, I marked him down as a "one time, flash in the pan" author. Subsequent readings of A Sunburned Country, Shakespeare: The World As Stage, Notes From A Small Island, I'm A Stranger Here Myself and A Short History of Nearly Everything persuaded me that he deserves recognition as a wonderfully entertaining writer and as a capable author of prose.

 

[Tio_Narratore]

She pressed his passive hand a little closer against her breasts. "That's precisely my Puzzle, Mr. Green. Why your apparently violent dislike for our methods manifests itself only in words."

John Fowles, Mantissa

 

[trysail]

...For the record, the previous grizzly bear quote has left my stomach in a very unpleasant knot. Those bears now join sharks, caves and frogs' legs on the list of things I fear most.

Uh, oh. Sorry about that. You very definitely do not ( repeat: DO NOT ) want to see Werner Herzog's documentary film Grizzly Man.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grizzly_Man
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timothy_Treadwell
In any event, I don't think you have too much to worry about unless you spend inordinately large amounts of time in Alaska or the Tetons.

I admit to a bit of worry about sharks given the amount of time I spend in tropical waters though as I age and human knowledge of shark behavior increases, it's become quite apparent that sharks really aren't interested in humans as part of their diet. Neither Steven Speilberg nor Peter Benchley were ever ones to let actual science get in the way of a good story. Otherwise, the day has not arrived when I will volunteer to go spelunking. The last time I was hungry enough to seriously contemplate some freshly gigged and grilled frog's legs was at Gentian Pond near Old Speck in the Mahoosics ( along the Appalachian Trail on the Maine-New Hampshire border ) back when I was fifteen.

 

[Tio_Narratore]

For the record, the previous grizzly bear quote has left my stomach in a very unpleasant knot. Those bears now join sharks, caves and frogs' legs on the list of things I fear most.


Infant Innocence
-A.E. Housman

The Grizzly Bear is huge and wild;
He has devoured the infant child.
The infant child is not aware
It has been eaten by the bear.

Bears, sharks, and caves can be fatal if not dealt with carefully, but frogs' legs? That's a regular dish here, and I haven't heard of any fatalities.

Uh, oh. Sorry about that. You very definitely do not ( repeat: DO NOT ) want to see Werner Herzog's documentary film Grizzly Man.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grizzly_Man
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timothy_Treadwell
In any event, I don't think you have too much to worry about unless you spend inordinately large amounts of time in Alaska or the Tetons.

And what do you think is between Alaska and the Tetons? Chopped liver? I'm afraid there's a large country there, replete with Grizzlies, from the heights of the Rockies in Alberta all the way down to the seacoast of British Columbia.

I do travel between Quebec and New Brunswick, and I am aware of a little place with ponds and frogs' legs called Maine; do you think if I didn't notice it, I could cut my traveling time?

 

[trysail]

Bears, sharks, and caves can be fatal if not dealt with carefully, but frogs' legs? That's a regular dish here, and I haven't heard of any fatalities.

And what do you think is between Alaska and the Tetons? Chopped liver? I'm afraid there's a large country there, replete with Grizzlies, from the heights of the Rockies in Alberta all the way down to the seacoast of British Columbia.

I do travel between Quebec and New Brunswick, and I am aware of a little place with ponds and frogs' legs called Maine; do you think if I didn't notice it, I could cut my traveling time?

(1) The ( apparent ) frog's legs phobia caught my eye, as well. I thought it impolite to inquire further.

(2) Having spent a month in Nahanni NP, we are well aware of the existence of BC, YT, AB and NWT.

(3) If it does, be certain to notify NASA.

 

[OnHarry]

At the risk of being labeled pedantic, I refer readers to the first post in this thread.

Simple rules, handy tools...

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Turn to page 28.
3. Read the 10th sentence.
4. Post the text of that sentence here.

Some posters appear to have disregarded that concept. At any rate carry on.

 

[trysail]

"In the corridor his name was heard, called from the playfield.
—Sargeant!
—Run on, Stephen said. Mr. Deasy is calling you.
He stood in the porch and watched the laggard hurry towards the scrappy field where sharp voices were in strife. They were sorted in teams and Mr. Deasy came stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet. When he had reached the schoolhouse voices again contending called to him. He turned his angry white moustache."


-James Joyce
Ulysses.
Paris, 1922.


It being Bloomsday, what could be more appropriate than a bit of Ulysses?

A puzzle, wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma? There is clearly genius in the astounding erudition of James Joyce. Perhaps there are a handful— but not many— who have read Ulysses and fully comprehended its allusive depths. I don't pretend to be one of them. Nevertheless, speaking as one who has derived enormous satisfaction from climbing the 15,000' shoulders of great mountains without actually reaching their summits, I will attest to the sense of accomplishment that comes from ascents that allow glimpses of peaks.

 

[trysail]

"The pegs were further away than he'd thought. He continued to traverse and the tug of the rope grew stronger; if he slipped, he'd swing a hundred feet or more— and as he reached the pitons his boot touched ice and he skated and fell. He swung on the end of the rope, describing an accelerating arc through the dusk. The swing itself was painless, exhilarating. He stuck his legs out as he gathered momentum and they took the impact when he at last collided with a corner. He had shut his eyes but they opened when he opened his mouth to scream.

Chris having heard the scream stood for a moment and then bent to pick up the rope but couldn't— there was still a body on the end of it. Even then he was surprised to hear Doug's voice again: I've broken my leg.

His eyes filled. He shouted down to Doug to get his weight off the rope— it's impossible to descend a weighted rope. Doug had in fact broken both legs but he was able to haul himself onto a ledge, grunting in pain and noting with grim satisfaction that his arms and spine still functioned.

Chris as he backed from the summit into the night was thinking that Doug might yet die. There was no way to carry him down the West Ridge. He reached Doug— a figure huddled in shadow— and fumbled in the dark to rig another rappel. Another rope length would take them to a snow-covered ledge where they could try to dig a cave. Doug tried to stand. Chris heard bone scrape. Doug screamed again and fell to his knees; he paused there as if considering his next move and fell forward onto his hands. He would crawl."


-Clint Willis
The Boys of Everest: Chris Bonington and the Tragedy of Climbing's Greatest Generation.
New York, 2006.


So as not to leave you in suspense, Doug [ Scott ] — with the assistance of Chris Bonington, Clive Rowland and Mo Anthoine— somehow managed to crawl down ( and that's not an exaggeration ) from the summit of the 7,285 meter ( 23,901' ) Ogre in the Karakorum Mountains of Pakistan in 1976.

Scott beat the odds. Of the constellation of climbers connected with Bonington, a sickeningly large portion died on mountains: Ian Clough, John Harlin, Dougal Haston, Mick Burke and Nick Estcourt— among others.

It's fun to read tales of Chamonix, the Eiger, Annapurna, K2, Changabang, Gauri Sankar, Mt. Blanc, Dunagiri and, of course, Everest. There's not the slightest doubt in my mind that it's a lot more fun to read about these places than to actually endure what Bonington and the boys did. No, thank you!

I've climbed in some of these places but I'm no masochist— and to do what these guys did, you have to be.

 

[trysail]

"No government is brave enough— or has enough popular support— to do away with cheap gas[oline], but it's gradually killing the Iranian state. Iran consumes far more gasoline than its overburdened refineries can produce, which puts the government in the awkward position of having to export crude oil and then pay to reimport gasoline from foreign refineries, at a cost of $4.7 billion in 2004."


-Lisa Margonelli
Oil On The Brain: Adventures From The Pump To The Pipeline.
New York, 2008.



In the first half of the book— which backtracks how gasoline gets to a service station pump from a distributor all the way back to BP's 275,000 barrel per day Carson, California refinery and a Texas drilling rig— Margonelli does a very good job of describing and explaining a much maligned industry. It's a good primer for anyone who wants to know these things. If you're looking for evidence of conspiracy, this isn't your book as that idea is very convincingly demolished— this is an extremely competitive industry with razor-thin margins and gargantuan capital requirements. The book falls down when Margonelli travels to Venezuela, Chad and Iran and begins to preach. She isn't qualified.

I've always known that Iran has to import gasoline. If you asked the man on the street or a United States Senator if it was true that a founding member of OPEC and one of the largest petroleum exporters in the world was short of gasoline, they'd look at you as if you were an idiot.

This is EXACTLY the kind of absurdity that one would expect to occur in a planned/command economy. It's sooooooo predictable.